Life after homelessness in Santa Cruz: honoring the work of Stephen Nelson

Forgive the sudden change of tone, my four loyal readers, but I have a story with serious import to share. Here is a bit of inspiration for you this morning. It's about a man who thought he'd lost everything, only to wake up one day and realize that his life of misfortune contained a template for actual change -- not just his change but other people's, too. I interviewed him at some length on Monday and based my story on our talk, and my conversations with several other folks who know him well. Meanwhile,  mark your calendars for the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Convocation. And in case you missed it, here is my interview with the 2012 keynote speaker Nikki Giovanni and my story about the upcoming ceremony, featuring activist and educational activist Robert Moses. And yes, it goes without saying that I will be there at the ceremony. (photo by the talented Carolyn Lagattuta) And by the way, if you are on hand to congratulate Stephen, keep in mind that the pronunciation for his first name is unusual. It is pronounced Steh-FONN, with strong emphasis on the second syllable. 

Another update

I did, in fact, get completely lost on the way to the big Catamaran reception. I thought I could take a shortcut by going on Graham Hill Road, but I ended up behind a locked, residents-only security gate so I had to dogleg over Highway 17 and ask directions at the hotel near Pasatiempo. I finally figured it out, and it was a great evening. I had a nice talk with Belle Yang, a wonderful graphic novelist (her most recent book is Forget Sorrow) who designed a gorgeous cover for the upcoming Catamaran. Just wait until you see it. I also had a chance to talk with Robert Sward and his work in progress. He'll have a poem in an upcoming issue of the magazine -- not the next one but the one after that. There was a lot of excitement about our soon-to-be-published next issue, which focuses on the West Coast immigrant experience. We're getting lots of support from bookstores across America -- and, I'm glad to say, in Canada, where we sold very well (and we only had four measly returns). Meanwhile,  fundraising efforts are moving right along. The magazine is also a big part of the revitalization going on at the Salz Tannery. If you haven't seen it, you should stop by;  the once run-down Tannery now feels like an extension of downtown, complete with a restaurant, art space and art galleries, and a soon-to-open performance center. That's become part of my weekly ritual -- just running the length of the San Lorenzo River levee, stopping by the Tannery and seeing what exhibits, classes or talks are going on. All for now.

Update

My three readers (all of whom I know on a first name basis) should feel less self-conscious about writing in. Here is the latest update. I was very pleased with the turnout and reception to Amy's class. Very heartening to see. I finished up the Q and A that will appear in the next issue of Catamaran, featuring Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston, and tonight I am going to a special reception for the magazine and its supporters. Slightly nervous that I will get lost on the way to the party. It will be up in Pasatiempo -- I hardly know that area at all. Still reading many books -- especially Katherine Boo's Behind The Beautiful Forevers, though I've been cheating on it with other things -- and juggling  projects, though I've made a New Year's Resolution to finish every long form and short form piece that I begin. This means that I'll need to put finishing touches on two profiles I am writing and finish the first short story I've written in decades, and maybe even send it out somewhere if I can work up the nerve. Hoping to teach or co-teach a workshop or writing class soon. All for now. Looking forward to seeing all three of you soon.

Amy Ettinger in praise of "slacker parenting" with update at the bottom

My talented wife, Amy Ettinger, has a thought-provoking story up in the Huffington Post in praise of "slacker parenting." (note the scare quotes. Our kid is the opposite of slacker!!) I loved this story, and so will you. By the way, Amy will be teaching a class on writing about parenthood at the Capitola Book Cafe from 1 to 4 p.m. on January 26. 

And here is that story in the Huffington Post for your reading pleasure. She is getting tons of positive feedback for this one. And this just in -- a new story about Amy, her writing and upcoming workshop in today's Santa Cruz Sentinel.

Reading these now ....

Jeanne Wakatsuki Houston and James D. Houston: Farewell To Manzanar. I am interviewing Jeanne Houston tomorrow in person in Santa Cruz. Among other things, we'll talk about the 40th anniversary of a memoir that  sold about a million copies, went through more than 60 printings, and forced generations of Americans (including countless thousands of young readers) to remember a shameful episode of World War II history.   I just read it for the first time a couple of weeks ago and was blown away by its combination of straight-up journalistic style and lyrical, fantastical flourishes. It is easy to see why the book has so much staying power. Hard to believe, but the mass relocation of an entire group of loyal Americans to Manzanar and other desert prison encampments took place a mere seven decades ago. Looking forward to our conversation, which you will be able to read in excerpted form in an upcoming issue of Catamaran Literary Reader.  Also reading: John Cowper Powys: Autobiography. Lately I've been reading a lot of these wise and crazy memoirs by authors who've steeped themselves in Old Testament imagery and Greek mythology; this is one of the wisest and craziest you'll find anywhere, but first, you have to get your hands on a copy. Easier said than done. Mine came all the way from New Zealand courtesy of ILL. Speaking of wise and crazy memoirs steeped in classic imagery and New Testament references, I've always meant to read Edward Dahlberg's Because I Was Flesh. Now I'm seizing the opportunity. Other recommended books:  Colette's Break Of Day (memoir with fictitious elements, pretending to be a straight-up novel) and Report to Greco by Nikos Kazantzakis, if you've got a small block of free time. Newer books: Also, I am captivated by Helene Wecker's The Golem and The Jinni, and will interview her very soon to talk about the origins of this book. I had a few nightmares over Kevin Powers's lovely and horrifying novel, The Yellow Birds. More soon.

Sandwich ruins "Argo"

It is just my luck that the woman sitting me during the 1:10 p.m. Sunday showing of "Argo" at Century Cinemas 16 (in Mountain View) was eating an extremely loud, crunchy,  drippy, soggy, pickle-filled, oniony sandwich throughout the duration of Ben Affleck's latest directorial effort. Every so often, the smell would die down, and I could concentrate on the enjoyable movie, a mixture of comedy, skullduggery, and old-fashioned suspense.

But just when I was getting into it, really losing myself in the film, another wave of oily stench would rise up above the crowded theater.

My row-mate noisily unwrapped and masticated her foot-long grinder, sending showers of sauerkraut,  secret sauce and ham all over the people sitting near her.   One man sitting close to me was so thoroughly festooned with lettuce and onions that I could not make out his facial features.  "Argo" was a fine movie,  based on what I saw of it. Too bad I could not hear the dialogue through the crunch of her toasted sandwich. Did the hostages get away? I passed out before the second half.

Writing about parenthood with Amy Ettinger at the Capitola Book Cafe

"Have you cracked the parenting code for how to turn your kids into little angels who share toys and play on their own for hours? Have you battled the Tiger Mom who lives next door and won? Do you have some special insight about raising well-adjusted kids, but need an audience to share it with? Then don't miss the writer Amy Ettinger's upcoming class on this thorny topic, entitled "Diapers, Sleep Deprivation and Dating Daughters." 

The class is starting to fill up -- and right now, Amy is getting heaps of publicity and great feedback for her recent, button-pushing story in the Huffington Post, explaining why she is raising our daughter to be a 'slacker' (note the strategically placed square quotation marks).

Expect to hear some no-holds-barred juicy insider tidbits about parent-lit and the writing life, and get great feedback about your own writings in this intensive course.

Here is what Amy has to say about her upcoming course:

"This three-hour workshop, open to writers of all levels, will explore these questions in detail. We’ll talk about how to write essays and articles for national publications and add your voice to the growing genre of parenting lit. The class will discuss essays by Anne Lamott and Lorrie Moore. We'll also have on-the-spot sketches and exercises. Come with a topic in mind, some issue you would like to write about in detail, and think about what you might be able to teach other parents through your writing. As a bonus, this class will end with stories of triumph and horror from The Writing Life. Bring your questions about how to pitch and get published, how to work with editors and get your byline read by millions."
Her bio:

Amy Ettinger writes for the New York Times, the Huffington Post, New York Magazine, Sierra, and the San Francisco Chronicle. She is a regular contributor to the website Care.com, where she writes about parenting topics ranging from mommy wars to helping kids stay social media safe. You can read some of her work at www.amyettinger.com.

Those who sign up will receive, via email, an assortment of essays as well as a brief writing assignment in advance of the class. These materials will be emailed to you two weeks before the class. Please read these selections and write the assignment before we meet.

***** Amy happens to be my wife, which means I am going to miss the whole thing because ... I will be taking care of the kid! (artwork by me. All rights reserved. All apologies to Mr. Munch)

Insidious Gomphitis and more: Santa Cruz Fungus Festival 2013

My God. Has the time come around so quickly? Is it time for me to gear up, for the thousandth time, and head out to the Santa Cruz Fungus Fair?

My eyes bugged out when I realized that the fair is now in its 39th year! That means 19 years have passed since I first set foot in this festival dedicated entirely to fungus. That year I went to an event called "Fungal Favorites: A Taste Test" and watched bearded, Guatemalan-sweater-wearing locals manhandle, squeeze and even sniff such fungi as the "big laughing mushroom," the "insidious gomphidius," the "sheep's head floccularia," the "cute conic waxy cap" along with the "poison pie" and the "cloudy clitocybe." As I recall, some of the edible mushrooms had less-than-edible-sounding descriptions. Take, for instance, the 'delicious milk cap," which is "thought to be more delicious by Europeans than Americans. This sturdy orange mushroom becomes slimy when wet, turns green when bruised or aged, and exudes an orange milky substance when broken." Not the sort of thing you want to slice into your omelette!

Anyhow, you'd better believe I'm going be be there again when the event rolls around in about a week's time. See you all there!(and thank you very much to my friend  James Shiffer, who sent me the original account of that age-old fungus festival from 1994. He helped jar my memories.)

Coming soon (I have not forgotten about you)

Thanks for checking this every day, even though I haven't put an update on here for a while. Check back for my New Year's resolution, and news of my recent trip to a remote desert in Southern Calfornia, where I stumbled, unexpectedly, on various scenes from The Cactus Eaters (and stumbled into the book itself! Crazy. I wasn't even thinking about the book in any way, shape or form during this trip and yet I kept colliding with it. It was like being caught up in a wormhole through time.) I hope you are doing well and resting up after your long, crazy holiday celebrations.

A brand-new review of the Cactus Eaters, in this month's Memoir Journal (this blog journal entry was thoroughly updated on Monday, December 17)

. I just found out that this month's Memoir Journal, featuring this arresting cover photograph and a Wild interview with Cheryl Strayed, includes a brand-new (and as it turns out, very positive) review of my book, The Cactus Eaters. It's nice to find out that reviews continue to trickle in at this late hour, especially now that I've settled down, bought myself a CPAP, and stopped all my adrenalized wanderings and pulse-pounding adventures at least for the time being. Unless you include  going to the corner store and attempting to buy organic prunes without getting mugged by some idiot. See entry below. Addendum to this blog posting: I finally read the review. They loved The Cactus Eaters, and described it as a companion to Wild. One particular line in the review made me gasp when I read it, but I've decided to just let you read the review for yourself (rather than perpetuate the line by putting it on my blog.) A bunch of people asked me why I don't just post a link to the review. The answer is, the magazine does not, as far as I know, exist in an online version so you will need to head to a bookstore and pick it up.

What is Cactuseaters, anyhow? A compendium of links regarding this blog, various writings, Catamaran Literary Reader information, updates, uncensored book reviews and more

             I'm still stewing about that prune incident, and I'll have more to say about it soon.

In the meantime, here are some links and other readings for you to consider, especially if you're new to this blog. Here is a new story about Catamaran Literary Reader, which employs me as contributing editor, and another recent news report.  Here are links and uncensored editorial reviews about my first book, The Cactus Eaters, which is a true story.  I have gone ahead and republished and updated The Cactus Eaters FAQ. Also, here is story about my unfortunate run-in with the people at the Pain Quotidian bakery. Here is a podcast of my Catamaran talk with TC Boyle.  And here is a blog post about my neighbor, who wants his housemates to touch him on the knee. By the way, I used to have a whole bunch of Catamaran and Cactus Eaters links on my home page, but I somehow pressed the wrong button and they all went away. That accidentally pressed button resulted in an instant unwanted streamline and instant redesign of my blog, which is looking a little too 'aspirational yuppie" for my taste.  I'll have to call the good folks at Blogger and ask them how to bring my blog back to its old, clunky self and restore those missing links.

Some idiot just tried to mug me in the middle of an organic health food store!

Alternate title: "Some idiot just tried to mug me at the Food Bin"

You won't believe this. On Sunday at 1:30 p.m, I was set upon by a loud, anti-Semitic, near-toothless mugger, right in the middle of a health food store. To be precise, he tried to mug me in front of the shriveled apricots.

That afternoon, I stopped by the Food Bin & Herb Room (you know this place? In Santa Cruz, California? It's this endearing if dark and dingy little throwback of an organic food store with "like, dude'' cashiers and interesting produce. ) I stopped there to get some dehydrated plums. They have really good ones there, for some reason, and just as I was loading up my little plastic bag, I saw this guy behind me with only four teeth, in the lower part of his jaw. He was probably in his early 50s with a smeary coat and a black beard.

"This is when you give me some money for a few of these goodies, brother," he told me.

 That got my hackles up right there. When a stranger in Santa Cruz calls you 'brother,' nothing good will ever come of it.

When I just kept on shopping and ignoring him, he grabbed me by my shirt, gave me a little shove, and he said, "You're not understanding me, brother. This is NOT a yes or no question."

When I brushed his hands off, and got in his face, and told him, "you're getting no money off me, brother," he called me a word that you generally do not want to call any Jewish person (I just so happen to be Jewish) if you want to leave a health food store with your four teeth in their rightful places. I explained to him that this was a highly offensive term and that he would now have to leave. Although he took several giant steps toward the door, he stopped in front of the bulk food aisle, at which point he indignantly told me I couldn't kick him out "because I used to work here."

Anyways the management finally, sort of, came to my assistance and told him he should leave and he finally did, so the whole thing came to a nice, non-violent conclusion.

I'm proud to say he didn't succeed in mugging me, and I'm glad I told him off. So it all ended well. Still, I'm buying my prunes from Staff of Life or New Leaf Community Market next time. Security  there  is generally good, and you don't have to worry about people shaking you down for lunch money in front of the kale display.

Remembering Don Rothman, a voice for writers and writing

                                                   photo by Scott Rappaport

I just spoke with Don on Tuesday afternoon at some length. During our phone conversation,  we talked about the importance of writing and composition courses and how they teach students to engage not only with the academy but with the wider world. I've taught composition at San Jose State and Columbia, but I've rarely met a professor who articulated the goals and potentials of writing so elegantly. He will be missed. The full story is right here, and here is a lively discussion between Professor Rothman and his old friend and colleague Herman Blake. If you would like to hear about Don Rothman in his own words, here is a link to his website.

Catamaran Literary Reader's launch party at the Salz Tannery: and welcome to the new website

The URL address may be the same, but Catamaran Literary Reader's website is now full-service and turbocharged as you will see. Take off your shoes and visit for a while.  And I know I keep saying this, but I so appreciate your messages and feedback -- a real boost for me every week. And it is great to see  the magazine is 'making the rounds.' Also, a huge 'thank you' to those of you who have taken out subscriptions, and in many cases, multiyear subscriptions. 

We are grateful for your support. In case you missed it, here are a couple of photos from our launch party at the historic Salz tannery. 

Our book table featured publications from Catamaran contributors and editors.

The crowd was large and spirited. 

Editor Catherine Segurson was master of ceremonies. 

That is me on the left, and to the right is Elizabeth McKenzie, who is both the managing editor and the fiction editor

And here is a picture of me 'performing' part of my interview with T.C. Boyle during the Catamaran launch party some weeks back.  Photos courtesy of Catamaran. See you all soon.

Our bookstore!

Just the other day I met an author I've admired for a long while, Ann Packer, who wrote a lovely appreciation of the Capitola Book Cafe. Her essay appears in a newly released anthology, My Bookstore, in which more than 75 authors pen tributes to their favorite booksellers. Someone was kind enough to videotape the entire "Our Bookstore" presentation at the Book Cafe, highlighting the work of  several writers who spend lots of time at the Book Cafe, including me. As far as I know, it is the only video of me reading anything anywhere. Check in later this week -- I'll try to get that link up on the blog just as soon as I am able. And thank you for the latest round of messages about the "Shoebox Man" essay in P & W.  I appreciate each and every one of your emails.

Catamaran Literary Reader in the news!

Thanks to the generous readers who let me know about this lovely article about Catamaran in the Santa Cruz Patch and another one about Peggy Townsend's recent publishing triumph, as written by Christa Martin in the Santa Cruz Sentinel. And thanks for the kind mentions of my work in these stories.  I truly appreciate it.

He's your man: Leonard Cohen concert review, San Jose, California, November 7, 2012

"Old age isn't a battle: old age is a massacre."

So said Philip Roth, but Leonard Cohen is not about to concede defeat.

There was something graceful and defiant about that magisterial voice, the dancing, the sexual posturing.

 He made every song, even the ones that referred to the inevitability of death and decay, boom out through the HP Pavillion last night, and when he blessed the audience at the end, hoping for safety and peace for those with families, and those who found themselves alone, he added a lovely touch of high holidays to the proceedings. 

The man is 78, and he often referred to his advanced years in a funny, rueful way:

My friends are gone

And my hair is grey

I ache in the places where I used to play. 

And yet he addressed the audience, sang his songs and recited "A Thousand Kisses Deep" with such vigor and authority that I expected him keep going all night long.  When he announced, with apparent sadness in his voice, "we're running up against a curfew," it was 11:30 p.m., and he showed no sign of flagging.  "Lazy Bastard In A Suit"? Hardly. 

His set took the audience on a 45-year journey from the "Songs of Leonard Cohen"  in 1967 to his current status as the "poet laureate of pessimism." The set  included a stomping, jaw-harp-driven rendition of "Democracy," and a rendition of "Hallelujah" that left a woman sitting to the left of me in tears. And he didn't just sing these songs. He sang them while dancing, he sang them on his knees, he sang them with his hat to his chest. After watching him perform (but not in this order) "Dance Me To The End of Love,"  "In My Secret Life," "Famous Blue Raincoat," "Suzanne,"  "Sisters of Mercy," "Tower of Song," "The Future," "Bird on a Wire," Who By Fire," "I'm Your Man," "Everybody Knows" and several others, I kept expecting his focus to drift. Never happened, although it must be said that this intense performance left his vocals a little bit wobbly by the time he launched into the encore of "So Long Marianne" and the set closer, the Drifters' "Save the Last Dance For Me."  I find something so comforting in that impossibly low voice. Cohen must be aware of his oversize reputation, and he took the air out of it from time to time on purpose with his cheeky references to his "golden voice," and his gently sardonic response when the audience roared its approval for his hesitant, touch-type-style keyboard flourishes on "Tower of Song."

He's like that cool grandfather we all want to visit, the one who secludes himself for long stretches of time, then gives you all his attention when you finally see him, hands you souvenirs from his travels, and tells you only the best stories when you get together.  

And it looks like we might see him again very soon? 

"I suppose we will meet again sometime," said Cohen, who assured that he would "keep doing this" (touring the world) for at least a couple more years. 

Trick or ... TREAT!!!!

I started the evening, believing that everything was going to the dogs. Then the polls started perking up, and everything changed. Then I went to sleep believing Proposition 30 was going to the dogs. Then I woke up and was in for a big surprise. What a relief. It could just as easily have been a "TRICK."

Whew!

Enough said. Instead of emigrating to Canada, I am going to mark this grand occasion by going to a concert by a grand Canadian: the great Leonard Cohen, appearing tonight in San Jose. Actually attending the concert will be quite a logistical challenge for me, but I am going to do this by hook or crook ...

Memories of a hurricane: our Sandy-whacked New York City adventures

On this busy election day, I thought you might take a moment out of watching those polls (relentlessly, joylessly, fruitlessly) and take a look at this brief travelogue. The bottom line is, I got off extremely easy. No power loss in my part of the city, and no flooding. Yes, I saw some harrowing things -- gas rationing, traffic lights bopping and pitching in the gusts, awnings blowing down, and bits of brownstone falling off various buildings. But the bottom line is, I ended up in NYC for three additional unscheduled days, which is  kind of like throwing Br'er Rabbit in the briar patch. The hard part was knowing that a number of my friends were either in harm's way or undergoing severe hardships ranging from electrical outages to flooding and gas rationing.

Walking out of our temporary residence, we saw some scenes of devastation including downed trees in front of the American Museum of Natural History. In fact, there was so much tree-carnage that we could barely get from one place to the other, as you can see below.

We checked in on friends and colleagues to make sure we were OK. Unable to leave home for Santa Cruz in time for Halloween, we decided to improvise, making an on-the-spot costume for my daughter, J., and hitting the streets for some candy. Remarkably, most folks seemed enthusiastic about the holiday, even though they had every reason to hide out in their apartments and not answer the door.  We even stopped by Obama's headquarters for some Halloween candy, although, as you can see, the president was a bit too busy to go trick-or-treating with us on this particular day. He was calling people up, household by household, trying to get the vote, and had no time to partake of waxy fangs, lime Lifesavers, banana Laffy Taffy or any of that other nonsense.

Walking around New York City shortly after the storm, I noticed that many businesses were still closed, while quite a few die-hards (or at least a few die-hards located in some of the more mildly or lightly affected areas of the city) soldiered on and stayed open, including the Ding Dong Lounge, which posted this hopeful, rain-washed message in chalk outside its main entrance: it reads: "Ding Dong Lounge: You don't have to work tomorrow. Get drunk."

Tentatively exploring the city the next day, I ran headlong into that crazy scene with the giant crane hanging off the side of a building.(crane photo courtesy of ABC's online news site)

We finally left on Thursday. On the way to the airport, we saw a line on the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel, the traffic backed up as long as I could see. Many of the cars had just a single passenger; without power in their homes, the drivers did not get the message about the three-passenger minimum, so many of those people must have gotten turned away at the tunnel. I also saw a ridiculously long gas line, going on for blocks and blocks and blocks, with a single nervous-looking police officer standing by at the pumps.

Hoping to return to New York very soon, under easier and happier circumstances for the city. It will be a long time before I forget the patience, calm and good humor of all the people we met during that strange and rainy week. And in case you are wondering, that is a poster of Obama, not Obama himself, lurking in the background of that photograph. (We did not actually get to meet him, nor was he in NYC on that particular night)